


you're a Rubik's cube

by scepticallyopenminded



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2012, Angst, M/M, hints toward smut, unabashed use of the word 'fuck' in various forms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not entirely sure when it turns from lust to love, but he’s pretty sure he loves Louis, because suddenly (and oh does it feel sudden, this realization, even though the feeling itself had been sort of gradual and slow), it’s not just that stunningly pretty and completely fit body he’s after; he wants all of Louis, wants all of Louis to himself, from his sometimes-lame (but always funny) jokes to that incredible personality. And suddenly, even though they’ve been exclusive the entire time, it just isn’t enough, being his best mate/fuck buddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're a Rubik's cube

**Author's Note:**

> So first time I've posted on ao3. Anyway, after many painful months of me getting bit by bit this out, I finished it today, so we'll see. Little more than a little nervous 'cause it feels a bit OOC but oh well. Also, it's been literal months since I've finished anything. 
> 
> on tumblr at [onedirectionaremyfirstlove](http://onedirectionaremyfirstlove.tumblr.com/)

Somebody once told Harry that love was a lot like lust; you craved someone really strongly, but instead of just their body, you wanted their entire being. With Harry and Louis, there never really was a start point. They just – they fall into each other a bit too fast, becoming best mates quickly – and, a bit out of the blue and kind of gradually but completely all at once, they fall into fucking, too. It’s mostly hand jobs at first, and though Harry knows better, Louis continues to this day to say that that first time, he was definitely drunk (he wasn’t, Harry knows this, _remembers_ it so well, but he doesn’t correct Louis, just rolls his eyes and gives a small smile because _Louis is such an idiot sometimes_ ). It turns into something different, something more and regular and _normal_ after the first time Harry sucks Louis off, some few months into their friendship.

Things change, again, the first time they full-on fuck (and it’s funny, actually, to Harry, how that although Louis _definitely_ had the upper hand when it comes to relationships and sex and all that, _he’s_ the one with the upper hand when it comes to any sort of sex with _lads_ – like Louis had never gotten to more than kissing other boys before Harry, and it feels sort of _good_ to Harry that he _knows_ he’s Louis’ first when it comes to a lot of things). Harry definitely feels a shift in their relationship, then, and he doesn’t think its love or anything (and it isn’t, he can say later with confidence), but it’s something much more…intimate. Like he’s seeing a side of Louis that nobody else gets to – and it’s beautiful, _he’s_ beautiful, stunning really, and that’s only something that’s amplified when he’s fucked out. The fact that _he_ , Harry, can sometimes turn domineering, witty, clever, loud, obnoxious Louis into a whimpering, begging mess (although Harry’s well aware that _he_ is usually the whimpering, begging mess, much more often than Louis), it makes him feel infinitely closer to him, and he’s not above saying that yeah, fucking definitely strengthened their friendship (because, of course, those that fuck together stay together – or something like that).

But the thing is – and it was bound to happen, they should’ve seen it, really, what with Louis being so god damn _Louis_ and Harry being so god damn _Harry_ – after a few months of the sex and cuddling and lust and teasing while doing interviews or on stage and _all of it_ , that he feels a shift, again, and this one scares him because he doesn’t know what _Louis_ feels because Louis has this façade he sometimes puts up that not even Harry can see through. And yes, Harry thinks back to that one person that told him that love was a lot like lust. Because before, he may have lusted after Louis, wanted to fuck him on a regular basis and wanted to explore his body and that, it’s different now. He’s not entirely sure when it turns from lust to love, but he’s pretty sure he loves Louis, because suddenly (and oh does it feel sudden, this realization, even though the feeling itself had been sort of gradual and slow), it’s not just that stunningly pretty and completely _fit_ body he’s after; he wants all of Louis, wants all of Louis to himself, from his sometimes-lame (but always funny) jokes to that incredible personality. And suddenly, even though they’ve been exclusive the entire time, it just isn’t _enough_ , being his best mate/fuck buddy.

It takes a month (and a whole lot more sex) for Harry to work up the courage to _tell_ Louis that, ask him out on a proper _date_ , tell him that he wants _more_.

It breaks Harry’s heart, maybe because he falls in love too fast or too hard, or maybe because he’d known it’d be a risk to their friendship (as if they weren’t risking their friendship with every thrust of the hips, every sex-sated kiss, every fucking love bite), but Louis breaks it off with him the next day, with a tight smile and a “maybe we should’ve stopped this a long time ago” and somehow Harry holds back the tears, smiles in return and replies with “yeah”. But it’s more than a “yeah” – he’s seventeen years old, he’s in love, properly in love, for the first time, and Louis’ put up that fucking façade again and he’s impossible to read.

It dawns on Harry a little bit later (and it just breaks his heart all that much more) when he catches Louis watching him (face impassive, and Harry wonders how he _does_ that, wishes sometimes that he could do that, not always wear his heart on his sleeve, because it’s like everyone can always tell what he’s thinking), that maybe it has something to do with _insecurity_. Because he _knows_ that Louis didn’t feel _confident_ in his sexuality (and fuck if Harry does; he’s _seventeen_ years old, doesn’t know enough, hasn’t experienced enough, but he doesn’t bother to put labels on it; he like what he likes, and he’s had a few girlfriends, one boyfriend, figures that it’s the best way to go about his life), but shit, they’d been fucking for months (and months) and he couldn’t very well help it if it just felt like plain _rejection_.

And for the first time in too many weeks to count, Louis sleeps in his own bed that night, and if nothing else hurt, _that_ did. Harry didn’t want to end whatever they had – he’d wanted something more, yeah, but if that couldn’t work, at the very least he’d’ve liked to continue what they were doing. Because even before the whole falling in love thing, before it’d all turned into something _more_ , Harry’d never felt like that about anyone. He’d never been that close to someone. Because they were _best mates_ , just – friends with benefits, and it was an experience Harry’d never had before, one he doubted he’d ever have again.

It’s less than a week later (a pretty agonizing week, in which Louis spoke to him rarely, and refused to look at him, and pretty much ignored him except when that wasn’t possible), and Louis says over breakfast one day, “So you’re almost eighteen. You’re – mature enough – to live on your own.” Long pause, in which he stares at his breakfast and Harry stares at him.

“I’m thinking me getting my own flat might be in order.”

Harry has to scrunch up his face to stop himself from crying, because damn (and to his credit, he doesn’t. At least not in front of Louis).

He goes to Niall, because he feels exceptionally vulnerable and sad and a million other things and Niall's always there. He knocks on his door and hears a loud thud and a muttered curse and gives a snort because he’s pretty sure he just woke Niall up, even though it’s past one in the afternoon. When he opens the door, hair dishevelled and naked except for crooked pants, Harry’s sure that yeah, he _did_ just wake up.

“Harry?” he asks, blinking a couple of times with a yawn, “Hey, what’s up?” He blinks twice more before his expression turned from sleepiness to concern. “What’s wrong?”

And Harry totally loves Niall, because yeah, he wears his heart on his sleeve too often, but there aren’t too many people who would’ve been able to tell that something was the matter right then. Of course Niall does. He always does.

“Just –” and Harry shrugs, because he doesn’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t like anybody who was close to them didn’t know there was _something_ up with Harry and Louis, knew the _basics_ of it, but they’ve never really talked about it. Not even with the other boys.

So he shrugs, feeling pinpricks in his eyes as they again fill with tears.

“Just – can I come in?”

His voice barely breaks, but it’s something Niall catches, and he nods, swallowing another yawn as it comes up. He pulls the door back a bit more, lets Harry in, watching the boy as he walks down the hall, hesitating where the door to the kitchen is before deciding to head to the living room.

“Want a cuppa?” Niall asks as he follows, pausing by the kitchen door, needing one himself.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Harry answers, sounding…helpless, Niall thinks. He watches Harry walk the rest of the way to the living room before turning to make the tea.

He hands a mug to Harry a couple of minutes later, sitting in the big chair on the end of the couch where Harry’s sat. They sip in silence for a moment before Niall speaks up.

“So what’s up?”

Harry shrugs, feeling like he _should_ talk, maybe, Niall’ll understand, won’t judge, and he probably needs to get it off his chest – but he’s scared, too, like this has been going on too long and the fact that Niall _hadn’t_ known about it – what if he was offended or some shit?

But Niall's not having any of it.

“C’mon, mate, ya look…I dunno, sad. Or somethin’.”

Harry snorts, because of course he looks sad, he is sad.

“So what’s up?”

Harry sighed, and shrugged again.

“Just…Louis and me.”

Niall snorts this time, taking another drink.

“Well, that clears things up.”

Harry gives another half-shrug, and rolls his eyes.

“Just – something happened, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Niall raises his eyebrows, because if it’s what he thinks, yeah, that’d been actually a little bit expected, “You mean – somethin’ between you two?”

Harry glances up sharply, bites his lip, and nods.

“Uh, yeah, it was –”

“Nah, you don’ need to explain it. I understand.”

Harry looks a bit grateful, gives Niall a half-smile.

“What’s wrong, then?” he asks next, and Harry’s smile turns to a frown, his eyebrows scrunching together. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Niall doesn’t press him. Sometimes, with Harry, if you wait long enough, he’ll start talking on his own.

And.

“Something – I dunno.” Deep breath. Slow talking. “I might’ve…told him…I loved him.”

Maybe this should shock Niall or something, but it just _doesn’t_. Like, it’s not unexpected. And, to be honest, he doesn’t see the problem with that.

“And?” Niall asks after a moment, realizing that Harry wasn’t going to say anything else.

“And.” Pause. “That’s not what he wanted to hear.”

So okay, Niall's a bit lost now, because what kind of person doesn’t – and oh. _Oh._

“Ya mean you guys were just –” and he doesn’t know how to quite finish that sentence, doesn’t want to be wrong and for Harry to get offended or what not (not that Harry’d ever gotten offended about anyone thinking anything about him, but still). Luckily, Harry seems to understand what he’d been getting at.

“Yeah,” and there’s a light flush to his face, which is a bit odd because Niall’d only seen Harry blush a couple of times.

“Yeah,” he repeats, a bit softer, and Niall bites his lip.

“This happened about a week ago?”

Harry looks up, matches Niall's gaze.

“Uh, yeah.” Niall shrugged.

“The two of ya have been actin’ a bit off. Not tha’ hard to tell.”

Harry just smiles softly, shakes his head.

“Yeah, I – yeah, a week ago, ‘bout. He got – I dunno, freaked out by it. Said we should’ve stopped a long time ago.” Harry bites his lip, looks down at his tea. “’M an idiot.”

But Niall shakes his head.

“Nah, you aren’t. You’re seventeen and got a big heart. Anyway, he’ll get over it. He always does. Ya guys are mates, too, first, y’know?”

And Harry shakes his head in return.

“He’s moving out.”

Truth be told, no, Niall didn’t see _that_ coming – not for a long while, at least. All he could utter was “oh”.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “Sometime after my birthday. Says,” He has to pause, clear his throat, “That it’s about time.”

Niall's just quiet for a moment, sadly doesn’t know what to say, how to say it.

“Maybe he’s right,” he says gently, finally, “Maybe it’ll be better for you.”

Harry shakes his head again, his face crumpling.

“I’m fucking _in love_ with him, Niall.”

He starts crying, softly, and Niall just pulls him in for a hug, words impossible now.

*

*

*

Harry sleeps over that night, and they spend the next day eating crappy food, too much takeout for two people and crisps galore and Harry’s not much one for sweets but when he’s sad, he’ll eat them but the tonne, and he’s _sad_ then. They watch some football and stupid movies and Niall even agrees to watch some silent film they find on TV, and sometime around four the next morning they fall asleep on the couch, tangled together.

*

*

*

Niall's all up for letting Harry crash at his place for as long as need be, but the younger lad decides to head home the next day regardless. He doesn’t trick himself into believing Louis’d worried about him (although he can’t be sure; his phone had died sometime on the first day at Niall's), but he goes back to their ( _their_ , he thinks a little bitterly as he drives) flat anyway.

Louis isn’t even there, hasn’t left a note or anything (and it fucking _hurts_ , this rapid deterioration of their friendship, because even before any of this had started, Louis had at least _cared_ , and he couldn’t care _less_ now, it seemed). But there are boxes. Boxes all over, some empty but most half or more full, full of Louis’ things. And, like, it’s _real_. Louis’ actually moving out.

Harry blinks, rubs his eyes, shakes his head, _doesn’t_ cry. He’s better than that. Maybe he’s only seventeen, desperately in love, and maybe Louis’ an idiot, but he’s stronger than that. He’s stronger than Louis.

*

*

*

What he’s not stronger than is a drunk, well-smashed Louis coming home at two a.m., and Harry (always one to worry, even about those who didn’t care about _his_ well-being; he couldn’t just stop, wondered how others did), who’s dozing on the couch _waiting_ for Louis, waiting to make sure he was all right, is woken by a slamming front door.

“Louis?” he calls out, maybe stupidly, because who else who has a key to their flat would be coming in at two in the morning? A sudden pause in footsteps and a snort later, Louis’ sticking his head, and then his body, into the living room.

“Look who’s back,” is what he says, a small smirk on his face.

“Hey,” Harry yawns, sits up on the couch, “Where were you?”

Louis snorts again. “Like you care.”

Which, like, what? Because _of course_ Harry cares, surely Louis _does_ know that. He voices it anyway.

“I do.” It’s a whisper, more like, but loud enough that Louis hears it clearly. He shakes his head, his smirk turning sadder.

“Yeah. That’s why you ran off to your boyfriend and didn’t tell me where the fuck _you_ were going.”

Harry’s a little stunned, because one, what the hell? Boyfriend? Louis’ a lot of things, but he’s never been an asshole, not even when drunk. And two, he _had_ known. He’d called Niall, or something, because somehow, he’d known where he was.

“Louis –”

Louis shakes his head again.

“’M moving out tomorrow. I’ve got temporary arrangements until I can find a place, ‘kay? So you can be alone. So you don’t have to deal with me. So you and Niall can do – whatever without having to worry ‘bout me.”

There’s a stunned silence from Harry, and Louis, after a moment, turns around.

“I’m going to bed.”

Harry watches him leave, turn, hears his footsteps up the stairs and the door to his bedroom closing. It’s a long while before he himself shuts off the TV, turns off the lamp, and goes to bed himself.

*

*

*

Louis’ up early the next morning, which is a little disconcerting to Harry because yeah, Louis can hold his alcohol, but he always feels like shit the next morning with more than a couple of drinks. But he hears him up and around by nine, in the kitchen, making breakfast, making tea, and then footsteps all over the flat, and he assumes he’s packing. It’s a couple of hours later that Harry finally gets up, and he heads down the stairs to find Louis in the living room, putting pictures in one of the last boxes.

“Morning,” Louis says when he sees him, and Harry grunts in response, heads for the kitchen to get something to eat. Louis follows him.

“’M sorry about last night, Haz,” and that nickname, that fucking nickname, has Harry briefly closing his eyes, “I was – that was unacceptable.”

“You were drunk,” Harry grumbles, keeping his back turned to Louis, beyond not ready to forgive him. Well, he _wants_ to, but knows he can’t. Not yet.

“That’s an understatement,” Louis groans as the tea kettle clangs, “But that’s not an excuse. I was a bit out of line. I mean,” and he pauses, sighs, “If you and Niall _are_ something…,” a pause, and Louis’ eyebrows scrunched together, “But it was a prick move anyway. I’m sorry.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, and he hears Louis sigh, get up from the table, and he’s almost back out of the kitchen before he says, “We’re not. Me and Niall. Anything. Ever. It’s just y—” He stops.

Louis pauses, watches Harry, but he keeps his back turned. Eventually, Louis leaves.

*

*

*

A couple of moving men come at about three, help Louis get all the boxes out of the house, and Harry sits in his bedroom, listens to the commotion. There’s an awkward goodbye as Louis finally parts, and when the front door closes for the last time, Harry curses himself as a single tear slides down his cheek.

*

*

*

He calls Niall that evening, and he comes over immediately, and they spend the night watching crappy telly and eating crappy food, and Harry cries.

*

*

*

It’s only two days later, again at two a.m., that Louis shows up at his ( _his_ , Harry thinks fiercely) door, completely sober this time. He still has a key, Harry knows this, he’ll probably never ask for it back (because, if he’s being honest with himself, he _wants_ Louis to show up, wants him to feel welcome, wants him to have the ability to wander in whenever he wants), but he knocks anyway. It isn’t that Harry was asleep – he hasn’t slept well since that fateful night when he’d been an idiot and decided to confess his feelings – so he hears the knock at the door, thinks it might be Niall, who’s shown up a couple of times at odd hours to see how he’s doing, and when he looks through the peephole and sees Louis, it takes him a moment. He stands at the door, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath before opening the door.

“Louis?” he asks, even though yeah, he knows it’s him. But maybe he’s dreaming. Or hallucinating. He’s really rather exhausted, to be honest, might be hallucinating.

Regardless, Louis answers him. Harry figures it’s probably real, because what comes out of his mouth isn’t what he expects (hopes, yeah, but not expects).

“Harry,” Louis sighs, looks down at the floor, and then looks back up into Harry’s eyes, “I just…I’m so sorry. About…everything. I…”

He pauses, a long drawn out one, glancing over Harry’s shoulder, and his eyes flutter around looking at the flat. Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah?”

Louis swallows, locks eyes with Harry again before closing them and taking another deep breath. It’s only when he’s opened his eyes again that he answers.

“I miss you.”

Louis said it so softly that Harry wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. He blinks, before—

“What?”

Louis stares at him, eyebrows scrunching and face turning the slightest shade of red.

“I miss you.” He says it a bit more pronounced this time, louder and with a presence, and Harry just stares at him. They look at each other for a few long moments, Harry slack-jawed and Louis biting his lip like he did when he was nervous.

“Why?”

And maybe it’s not the most intelligent thing that’s ever come out of Harry’s mouth, maybe it’s not what he wants necessarily to say, maybe there are a hundred other questions he could’ve asked instead, but it’s one thing he finds himself wanting to know. _Why_.

Louis seems taken aback at the question, unsure of how to respond, and he opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before replying with, “Why?”

Harry nods, determined all of the sudden, and licks his lips.

“Why do you miss me? How dare you? You – you – Louis. I was ready – and hell, I still am ready, to give up _everything_ for you. I wanted, _want_ you so badly. I’m – Lou,” his voice softens, and if he’s honest with himself he’s blinking because he’s blinking back more tears, “I’m in love with you.”

There’s a long pause, and Louis’ just looking at him pathetically, as if he doesn’t know how to respond, so Harry continues.

“I’m in love with you. So yes, why. Why do you miss me?”

Louis watches him for a second, Harry suddenly aware that they’re still in the doorway, but before he can say anything about it, the elder is answering.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he’s speaking softly again, something he only does when he’s specifically not wanting to be heard, or he’s unsure, or he’s sad. Right now, it’s probably a mix of the latter two, but Harry’s not sure.

“Because I’m a bastard. Because you’re…you’re my best friend. You’re so much more to me than just somebody to fuck, more than just somebody that’s,” he pauses, gulps, “that’s in love with me. Because I may be…”

He can’t finish that, though, it seems, because he just looks back up at Harry, and he can’t deny it; there’s a very serious sadness, unsureness, in his eyes. He considers for a moment, but it’s two in the morning, two days after Louis’ moved out, two nights after he was a drunken arsehole, two weeks after he gave up on Harry.

It’s two in the morning, and it’s too much for Harry.

“I’m sorry too. Good night, Lou.”

He shuts the door, barely sees Louis’ face fall before it closes, but he does see enough. He sees enough to know that there’s a good chance Louis is falling apart on the other side of the door, but he doesn’t think he can handle that.

It’s his flat now, and he can’t deal with it.

Harry ignores it when he thinks he hears a sob coming from the hall. He goes to bed, lays down, closes his eyes, but doesn’t get any sleep.

*

*

*

They have to be at the label’s office the next morning at eleven, and Harry drags himself in at eleven-fifteen, exhausted after getting exactly zero minutes of sleep that night. He knows he looks like hell, did his best to avoid pictures (he’s pretty sure he succeeded). As per usual, the meeting hasn’t started yet, and the other four boys are sitting in the room outside the office, Niall and Liam talking in one corner, Zayn sitting on the floor on his phone, Louis on the couch, assumedly asleep. He greets the other three before sitting in an empty chair, noting that Louis, too, looks like hell; the bags under his eyes have never been bigger, Harry thinks, feeling a little bit guilty.

He decides to follow Louis’ lead anyway and get a little sleep, maybe (he doesn’t know exactly what the meeting is about, but is far from prepared to deal with the shit it could be with how tired he is).

He doesn’t end up getting so much as a wink of sleep, though; his mind was racing from this to that, all revolved around Louis. When someone finally does come get them (thirty five minutes late), Harry sticks back, waits, and gets up at the perfect moment so as to catch Louis as they go through the door. He places a hand on the small of Louis’ back, and when the lad turns his head in surprise, whispers to him, “We need to talk later, yeah?”

Louis watches him with slightly suspicious eyes before biting his lip and nodding. Harry smiles in response, and then they’re going into the office.

There are two seats left, on a couch with Liam, next to each other, and they sit down, Harry automatically draping his arm around the back of the sofa, slightly touching Louis. He tenses when he realizes it, but Louis is smiling slightly and it would’ve been awkward in that moment to remove it (or at least, that’s what Harry told himself). He keeps his arm where it is, and forces himself to relax.

The meeting goes on for some time, as they talk about the release of the album in the US and the promo and the next album (they’d already recorded bits and pieces). The five of them, truth be told, don’t necessarily need to be there, and get bored quickly. After an hour or so of Niall stifling laughter at Louis’ stupid faces he’s making, and Liam and Zayn attempting sign language, and a short game of I Spy, their managers let them go with a sigh, simply telling them to check their email that evening.

“Ya guys wanna go for lunch?” Niall asks them as they get out of the office, and Liam and Zayn are quick to agree. After a quick glance at each other, Louis and Harry did too. They could talk just as easy after lunch as they could right then.

*

*

*

“You alright?” Niall asks as they sit down at the restaurant. Liam and Louis are locked in a debate about five different things, and the other three had been watching them amusedly. Harry turns to him, a little surprised at first, but nods, smiling.

“Right now. We’re talking later. He…” Harry hesitates, watching Louis snap something at Liam, who comes right back at him, “I’ll text you later. But we’re talking after this. So,” he smiled again, “Who knows?”

“Who knows what?” Louis catches the least words, and suddenly three sets of eyes are looking at him expectantly.

“Who knows…” Harry begins.

“—how much of a hit our album’ll be in America,” Niall finishes.

That immediately distracts everyone, as they talk about their worries and Louis and Niall assure them that everything will be okay.

*

*

*

“So.” Harry starts, as they sit in their (his, Harry reminds himself sadly) flat. Louis watches him expectantly, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He wants to say a lot, but doesn’t know how to put it into words.

“So,” Louis repeats back to him after a bit, a smudge of a smirk and a raised eyebrow his expression.

“Would you like some tea?” Harry asks, a different phrase than had been on the tip of his tongue. He feels all messed up, not in charge of his own words, unsure, like the thirteen-year-old boy who’d been in love with this teacher all those years ago. Louis looks at him for a moment, and nods.

He follows Harry into the kitchen, and he can feel Louis’ eyes on his back as he gets the cups, the tea, the kettle, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

It’s Louis who speaks first.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over this urge to kiss you.”

Harry swears he can _feel_ a small part of his heart repair itself before it falls apart again. Because that wasn’t enough. That wasn’t what he needed to hear.

“Lou,” he turns around, leans back against the counter, and carefully studies the older boy, who’s leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, a smile on his face. He bites his lip.

“Lou, I’m in love with you.”

Louis chuckles, his smile brightening, and nods.

“I know, Haz. You’ve told me that a few times now.”

“Then you can’t say stuff like that,” he gulps, knits his eyebrows together, “You can’t say stuff like that because it hurts that I’m in fucking love with you and you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“But don’t I?” Louis asks in return, moving to the kitchen table and instead of sitting in one of the chairs, jumping up to sit on the table, “Would I’ve come here last night if I didn’t want something to do with you?”

“Louis —” Harry starts again, but Louis shakes his head, cuts him off.

“I’m an idiot. And I get that. And I understand that. No, I’m not in love with you,” he pauses as Harry’s face involuntarily falls a little more, “But Haz – that doesn’t mean I couldn’t someday be.”

Harry stares at him, a little slack-jawed, and Louis’ smiling just a bit, looking hopeful, and Harry –

“Don’t fuck with me, Louis.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up.

“I know I’ve been a twat lately but I didn’t think you thought _that_ badly of me,” he says, shaking his and giving a small huff of a laugh, “I’m not fucking with you, Harry. I wouldn’t. Not about something like this.”

“Then why did you – why didn’t you – fuck, Lou, I’ve felt _horrible_ these past few days, and I thought – ”

“I’m sorry,” Louis interrupts, sounding completely sincere, “You deserve nothing but the best. But, for some reason, you chose me, and I – I wasn’t ready to be chosen.” He stopped, swallowed.

“I’m not in love with you, Harry, and I apologize for that, because it sucks – I _know_ it sucks – to be in love with your best mate. But I – that’s it. You’re my best mate. And I think I’m yours.”

“You are,” Harry puts in, nodding, and Louis smiles again.

“So I guess if you still want to be, then why should it be a problem for me? Plus, I really like fucking you.” He pauses again, then his eyes grow wide as Harry’s jaw drops again.

“Oh god, that came out wrong – I mean –”

“That’s a compliment, right?” Harry asks, and Louis lets out a sigh and winces.

“Sorry, that wasn’t right.”

“But it was true.” Harry’s eyes were twinkling in a way Louis hadn’t seen them do in almost two weeks, and he smiles in response.

“Well, yeah.”

“Then I don’t care, Louis. I don’t care that you aren’t in love with me – it would be nice, yeah, but life isn’t fair. You’re my best mate, and I want it to stay that way.” Harry pauses, watching Louis, before his mouth quirks up, “Plus, I really like fucking you, too.”

Louis laughs, feeling better than he has in more than a few days, and Harry’s grinning too, looking bright and happy and it breaks Louis’ heart realizing that _he’d_ been the reason Harry had been sad for the last little while.

“But Lou – before anything else – I need you to know. This whole being in love with you thing isn’t a phase – I’m probably going to be in love with you for a while – especially if we keep doing, well, whatever it was we were doing before. Niall said that – he said that it might be better for me when you decided to move out because I might be able to get over you.”

“Do you want to get over me?” Louis asks, biting his lip because, after all this, he really hopes the answer is _no_.

“God no,” Harry quickly says, so quickly that it has Louis laughing again, and Harry really couldn’t get enough of that sound.

“No, I don’t want to get over you. I just want you to know that this isn’t just, something that’ll go away. I’m in love with you, Louis,” he pauses, searching Louis’ face before continuing, “And I probably will be for a while.”

“Okay,” Louis replies, “I’m okay with that as long as you’re okay with what I said earlier. That I think that maybe, probably, someday, I’ll fall in love with you too.”

Harry’s grin is so big that it almost splits his face is half.

“I think I can deal with that.”

“Good,” Louis hops down from the table and walks over to Harry, pushing himself up onto his toes so he can kiss the younger lad, “Now, the water’s boiling away. Better make our tea.”

“Right,” Harry replies, slipping in one more kiss before turning around to do just that.

*

*

*

It’s around one in the morning when a knock comes to the door. Louis and Harry are asleep on the couch, but the knock wakes them both up, and with a small sigh, Harry unwraps Louis from himself and gets up to get the door.

It’s Niall, who looks up as the door is opened.

“Hey, Haz, jus’ wanted to make sure you were all right. Didn’t text me like you said you were goin’ t’ – ” he stops, his eyes flicking beyond Harry, and when Louis’ arms wrap around him a moment later, Harry knows why, “Oh.”

“Hey, Niall,” Louis says, smiling brightly, “Thanks. I know you were looking after Harry while I was being – a prick.”

“Yeah,” Niall smiles, and Louis notices subtly that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “No problem. Jus’ – ‘m glad you two worked it out.”

“We did,” Harry responds, his own smile seemingly plastered to his face, “Think we’re gonna be all right.”

“Right,” Niall nods, and it’s a little tight, and Louis wonders, “I’d better be goin’, then. See ya tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Harry continues, “Have a good night, Ni.”

“You too. Both of you,” Niall gives a little wave as he turns around, and Harry shuts the door, turning around in Louis’ arms to drop another kiss on his lips.

“Notice anything off about Niall?” Louis casually asks as they wander back into the living room, but Harry shakes his head.

“Nah, why? Did you?”

Louis pauses, thinks about it for a moment, and shakes his head slowly. “Nah, just my imagination, I think.” He yawns for effect. “’M a bit tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Harry grins, like he has been all evening, bright and happy.

“Me neither. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Louis smiles back and follows Harry to his bedroom – the one he hasn’t been in in two weeks – and he feels giddy, like he first did months and months ago when they’d first moved in together.

He thinks he can definitely someday fall in love with Harry – maybe soon, maybe months from now – and relays to himself what Harry told Niall just moments before: they’re going to be all right, for sure. 


End file.
